The doors of the Elysium Lounge burst open with a violent push, spilling Anastasia Laurent into the chilled Manhattan night. Her heels clacked against the glistening marble entrance, each step echoing like gunshots in her head. She barely noticed the sharp scent of winter wind cutting through the warm perfume clinging to her skin. The skyscrapers loomed like silent sentinels around her, their glass eyes glittering with secrets as the pulse of New York thrummed beneath her.
Neon lights flickered over her face—red, blue, gold—painting her in fractured shades of chaos as she reached the valet line. But she didn't wait. Instead, she veered toward the side parking lot, her breath forming trembling clouds in the cold air, her fingers trembling as she clutched her clutch like a lifeline.
